‘And what about you?’ asked Michael, turning to Bartholomew. ‘Can you identify them?’
‘No. One drew a knife, and we pushed and shoved at each other before he toppled us both down the stairs. As Clippesby says, it was dark.’
‘What were you thinking of?’ snapped Michael furiously. ‘You are not a beadle, and you should not be challenging armed intruders to fights in the middle of the night.’
‘I have no intention of making a habit of this,’ replied Bartholomew testily, nettled by Michael’s anger.
‘And these intruders stabbed Arbury on their way out?’ asked Langelee, kneeling unsteadily next to the dead scholar and pulling the sheet away so that he could inspect the young man’s face. ‘He is very cold. I must raise some funds so that the students on guard duty have a fire–’
‘He is cold because he was stabbed hours ago,’ interrupted Bartholomew impatiently. Langelee was often slow on the uptake, but large quantities of wine had made him worse. ‘I imagine he opened the door to these men, and they knifed him so that they could enter without him raising the alarm.’
‘And then they went to my room?’ asked Michael, his eyes huge in his flabby face.
Bartholomew sighed irritably. ‘I have no idea what they did next. All I can tell you is that I caught them leaving your chamber.’
‘All right, Matt,’ said Michael gently. ‘I know you are distressed by yet another unnecessary death – as am I – but that is no reason to snap at me. I am only trying to learn what happened.’
Bartholomew rubbed his hand through his hair and stared away into the darkness of the night. Michael was right: the incident had left him badly shaken. But it was his own stupidity that made him angry. He should not have tried to take on the intruders without summoning help, and he now wished he had listened to Clippesby when he had met him earlier that evening. For all his ravings, the Dominican occasionally made very astute observations, and the physician realised he should not have dismissed him so readily.
Langelee stood, grabbing Michael’s arm to steady himself. ‘Arbury is clearly beyond anything Bartholomew can do, so I commit him to your hands, Suttone. You can mount a vigil for him. Take him to the hall, though, not to the church. I do not want you leaving Michaelhouse at this hour of the night when there are killers at large.’ He turned to Bartholomew. ‘But before Suttone removes Arbury, is there anything you need to do? I know your examination of bodies in the past has helped you to identify killers.’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘All I can tell you is that he died from a single wound to the chest, and that he bled to death.’
‘And you think this happened some time ago, because he is cold?’ clarified Langelee.
Bartholomew nodded. ‘But I cannot tell you exactly when.’
‘I see,’ said Langelee. He turned to Michael. ‘We should go to your room, to see whether anything is missing.’
‘Nothing will be missing,’ replied Michael. ‘I have very little to steal.’
‘What about your collection of gold crosses?’ asked Langelee immediately. ‘And your fine array of habits and expensive cloaks? And since your office at St Mary’s is not particularly secure, I expect you store certain documents here, too.’
Michael shook his head. ‘I keep my crosses behind a stone in the hearth – and I defy even Cynric to identify which one. Meanwhile, there is not exactly a thriving market for used Benedictine garments. Mine are distinctively large, and a thief would be caught immediately if he tried to sell any of those at Ely Hall.’
‘And the documents?’ asked Bartholomew.
The monk shrugged. ‘Anything important is locked in the chests at St Mary’s or the Carmelite Friary. There is nothing in my room worth taking.’
‘We should check anyway,’ said Langelee, beginning to walk across the courtyard towards Michael’s room.
Bartholomew and Michael followed him, leaving Suttone and his students to carry Arbury to the hall and begin their prayers for a soul that had died without the benefit of final absolution. As he climbed the stairs, Bartholomew saw the deep groove where the knife had raked the plaster in the wall. He shivered, not wanting to think of the force behind a blow that had left such a mark. Michael reached out to touch it, then turned to scowl at the physician, making it clear that he was unimpressed by the foolish risk his friend had taken.
The shock of the brief encounter with the intruders and finding Arbury dead was beginning to take its toll. Bartholomew felt exhausted, while his bare feet were so cold that he could barely feel them. The chill reached right through his bones to settle in the pit of his stomach, and he wondered whether he would ever be warm again.
Langelee pushed open the door to Michael’s room and the three scholars looked around them. Michael’s possessions had been dragged from their shelves and chests and scattered, so that the chamber looked as if a violent wind had torn through it. Michael took a sharp intake of breath when he saw the mess, and Langelee whistled, holding up the lamp so that it illuminated every corner.
‘The thief was certainly thorough. I wonder if he found what he wanted.’
‘They,’ corrected Bartholomew. ‘There were two of them. I heard the feet of one running down the stairs, while the other fought with me.’
‘So, the first intruder did battle with you to allow the other to escape,’ summarised Langelee. ‘Was the first bigger than the second?’
‘I did not see the one who ran,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘I only heard his footsteps. I suppose he did sound small and light, though. Or perhaps he was on tiptoe because he was in the middle of a burglary. I really do not know.’
‘And the first?’ pressed Langelee. ‘Is there anything you can tell us about him? Was he taller than you? Fatter? Was he wearing a cloak, or just hose and shirt? Was there anything at all that you remember about him – perhaps a distinctive smell or a peculiar physical feature.’
‘It was dark,’ said Bartholomew wearily. ‘And he was waving a knife at me. I noticed very little about him, other than that. He knew what he was doing, though; he was a competent fighter.’
‘And you took him on,’ muttered Michael. He slumped down on his bed and surveyed the mess with round eyes. ‘I do not know whether I am more angry with you for risking your life, or with whoever had the audacity to enter the Senior Proctor’s College and go through his personal effects.’
‘Have you been keeping a record of your murder investigation?’ asked Langelee, sitting next to him and scratching his head as he tried to think of reasons why Michael’s room should have been subjected to such treatment. ‘Perhaps that is what they were looking for, so that they could see how close you are to catching them.’
‘I am not close at all,’ said Michael gloomily. He picked up a linen shirt that had been tossed carelessly on the floor, flinging it just as carelessly on to the chest that stood under the window. As he did so, something fell out. Bartholomew leaned down to retrieve it. It was a tiny glove, like something that had been made for a child.
‘A boy was one of the intruders?’ asked Langelee, taking it from him and turning it over in his hands. ‘I suppose it makes sense. A small child could search places that an adult could not reach. I have heard of monkeys being used for such purposes.’
‘You said the footsteps of the second intruder sounded light,’ said Michael to Bartholomew. ‘Could they have belonged to a child?’
‘It is possible,’ said Bartholomew, snatching the glove from Langelee and inspecting it in the candlelight. ‘But I do not think this belongs to a child. I think it belongs to Prior Morden, the leader of the Dominicans.’
It was nearing dawn, and the dense black of the sky was just beginning to show signs of brightening, although it would be another hour before it was light enough to see. Even at that early hour the town was stirring, and a lone cart could be heard rattling up the High Street on its way to the Market Square. A dog barked, and somewhere two people were greeting each other cheerfully. A dampness was in the faint wind that rustled the few dead leaves remaining on the winter branches, threatening more rain that day, and the sky was its usual leaden grey.